


The In-Between

by CoffeeStars



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Geno is Nicolas Cage, Kidfic, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Reincarnation, Time Travel, basically a The Family Man AU, i just threw in some hurt for the gratuitous comfort, it's a happy ending no one dies, mixed with Kate and Leopold, regency au, the conflict is barely there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeStars/pseuds/CoffeeStars
Summary: The master of the Malkin Estate falls in love with his valet on a rainy afternoon.





	The In-Between

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the dramatics, not really for plot or historical accuracy. Follow me on [tumblr](nomorelonelydays.tumblr.com) for more cheesy cheese.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The master of the Malkin Estate falls in love with his valet on a rainy afternoon.

Sidney Crosby, fair-faced and kind, had revealed his love for snow and ice skating as he helped to dress Evgeni, and Evgeni had selfishly followed the curve of Sidney’s lips as he spoke of stories from his childhood, when he and his sister Taylor would get into all sorts of trouble with their wet boots leaving streaks all over the floorboards and rug. He loves rainy days, when Sidney would hold his umbrella as they go out on a walk, and once they are far enough out in the countryside, Evgeni would take the umbrella from Sidney and kiss his knuckles, saying, “My dear Sidney, please let me.” Evgeni wants to suck bruises on Sidney’s unmarred skin, a necklace of promises, but he holds himself back, if only barely. He learns that Sidney sends most of the money he makes back home to his parents and his sister, in the hopes that she can marry richly instead of becoming a governess, destined for loneliness and instability.

(The Crosbys were rumored to be rich, once, a long, long time ago. Now, not so much.)

Evgeni discovers that, later on, Sidney blushes a pretty shade of pink when Evgeni brushes back his curls to kiss down his face, from his forehead, to his nose, then finally to his lips. He learns that Sidney is very poor at teasing, especially with his bare body pressed close against Evgeni’s and his breath shuddering against Evgeni’s jaw like the beating of wings.

Evgeni’s favorite moment is in the early morning, even before the first bird has started to crow outside, when Sidney brushes Evgeni’s hair back with his fingers as he reads from one of Evgeni’s books. During those times, Evgeni pretends that Sidney is his husband, and that they’re sharing another fragile moment before day breaks. It’s very easy to envision, but Sidney has always made Evgeni believe that all things can be possible.

“Would you marry me, if we could?” Evgeni asks softly. Half of him hopes Sidney doesn’t hear, the other half aches for Sidney to kiss a thousand ‘yes's into his skin.

Sidney strokes Evgeni’s cheek with his thumb. The lamplight is dim, and he can’t quite make out Sidney’s expression.

“Sleep, Zhenya,” Sidney says. “It is very late.”

“Stay with me,” Evgeni murmurs. “Stay.”

“I will,” Sidney says, and blows out the candle.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Sidney disappears without warning one unbearably warm summer.

“Sidney has terminated his contract with the Malkin family, effective immediately,” the butler informs Evgeni, as he dresses Evgeni for the day.

“I should visit him then,” Evgeni says, furrowing his brows. “Why was I not informed?”

“It was a very sudden decision,” the butler says, and lowers his voice. “He has told me to lie and say that he has taken ill, but in truth, he is going to home to marry this year per his family’s wishes. There’s no helping etiquette from poor breeding. Nevertheless, the staff wishes him well and hopes he will be very happy with a Miss Kingsley from Jameston. An excellent match, if I dare say.” The butler steps back and asks politely, “Will you ride today, sir?”

“No,” Evgeni says, his heart crumbling.

“Very well, sir,” the butler says, and retreats.

Evgeni has always hated summer.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It’s unseasonably warm.

Two months in, and the weather seems to take a turn for the worse. Last summer, Sidney had taken him out to the shores and looked for seashells. This year, Evgeni stays in and stews in his own misery, angry with Sidney for leaving without so much a word, and angry with himself for being so big a coward that he dares not visit Sidney, much less write him a letter, for fear of seeing him happily married.

“There’s a storm brewing tonight,” the housekeeper tells the maid as she worriedly glances out the window into the gloom. “I do hope it passes quickly.”

“Do you think it will thunder?” the maid asks meekly. She’s relatively new to the Malkin Estate, hired two weeks before Sidney had left, and very easily frightened by the vastness of the house and the world. “Lightning I don’t mind as much, but thunder…” She sighs. “Remember that story Sidney used to tell when the younger ones would get scared? They’d cling to him as if he were their mother—”

“Lightning is far more dangerous. It had better not strike anywhere near the house,” the butler says sternly. “Go back to your positions. We certainly don’t pay you to loiter.”

Evgeni sleeps fitfully that night. There’s a snap and a crackle, as if lightening had struck the roof of the house, but Evgeni doesn’t wake to check.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

There’s something tickling Evgeni’s nose.

He opens his eyes, and finds that the room seems brighter than it usually is, and in a different shade as well.

“Stop moving around,” a voice— _Sidney_ ’s voice—says. The body clinging to him snuggles closer, his curls messy and very much in Evgeni’s face.

Evgeni doesn’t dare to breathe for a moment.

“Sidney,” he whispers. His heart almost beats out of his chest. “Sidney, how are you here?”

“I know, right?” Sidney mutters. “I’m not going out with Flower and Tanger anymore. Those two think they’re still twenty.”

Evgeni understands about thirty percent of the sentence. He clutches Sidney’s shoulders and kisses his forehead to his shoulders, desperately, frantically, and oh, Sidney is so blessedly solid underneath him, it’s not a dream—he hardly realizes that he’s not even in the Malkin Estate until after a good five minutes feeling Sidney’s skin under his lips.

“Why’d you stop?” Sidney asks.

“Where—where am I?”

“Well,” Sidney says. “In bed, with me, first of all. ‘Where you  _will_ be’ is a more important question.”

Sidney combs Evgeni’s hair with his fingers, and loses himself in the sensation before slurring out lazily, “Where will I be?”

“That creepy historical manor you said you never wanted to go to because you said it freaked you out,” Sidney says in a rush. “I told Sofia we could all go as a family.”

“The where?” Evgeni echoes.

“The one with the farm and your last name. Malkin Estates.” Sidney wraps his legs around Evgeni’s waist and coaxes, “It’s for Sofia, so she’ll have something to write about for school. Come on, please?”

Evgeni’s so lost in the feeling of Sidney so close to him that he very much belatedly asks, “Who is Sofia?”

Sidney doesn’t even have a chance to respond before the pattering of tiny feet down the hallway and knocking interrupts his thought.

“Daddy,” the voices beyond the door scream in glee. “Daddy, Papa, Daddy! Good morning! Field trip! Field trip! Field trip!”

Sidney sighs, kissing Evgeni’s cheek briefly before untangling himself. “I’ll go get the little one ready. You can handle breakfast for those two, right?”

Sidney rolls out of bed and throws on a shirt whose style Evgeni has never seen before, opening the door and letting in two children run in and hop immediately onto the bed. He smiles briefly at Evgeni before going off, leaving Evgeni with two little girls climbing over his legs and arms.

“I want Fruity Pebbles, Papa,” the blonde one says, then twists her leg and rolls to the other side of the bed. “Sofia,  _ow_ , you stepped on me!”

“Sorry. I want toaster waffles,” the other one, Sofia, says.

“What is a toaster?” Evgeni asks incredulously. His mind is still whirling around the fact that one of them had called him  _Papa,_ and Sidney, Daddy.  

Of course, he doesn’t get an answer.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Breakfast is a disaster. Evgeni doesn’t know how  _anything_ works in this hallucination—as wonderful as it is—of his, and the more he asked the children questions like, “What is a microwave?” the more they laughed, “Stop messing around, Papa!”

“What’s Papa up to, hmm?”

Evgeni turns around from the mess of cereal (which is apparently dehydrated corn flakes in multiple colors) and milk splashes to see Sidney cradling a chubby toddler who is currently sucking at his fist.

“Sidney,” Evgeni says again, for the third time this morning, because the sight of Sidney looking rumpled and soft  _holding a child_  is too much for Evgeni to bear.

“Say ‘Good morning, Papa!’” Sidney says, bouncing the babe in his arms. “‘Good morning!’”

The baby blows spit bubbles at Evgeni; it’s the best thing Evgeni has ever seen. Sidney shrugs. “He’s doing his best.”

Evgeni steps closer, touching the soft tuft of hair on the baby’s head and marveling. “Hello, dear one,” Evgeni says, transfixed. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

“Why are you talking like that?” Sidney asks.

“Like what?”

“Like you swallowed a Jane Austen novel.” Sidney settles the baby into his seat. “Have you been watching those movies again?”

“I don’t understand—”

“Papa is Mr. Darcy!” the one that’s not Sofia—Alexandra, Evgeni had garnered, exclaims.

“I’m not being Miss Bennet, if that’s what you’re trying to get at,” Sidney says peevishly, pressing some buttons on the silver contraption that Evgeni had given up on figuring out after a few minutes, as he slides his mug underneath. “And you didn’t make eggs either. Were you waiting for the chef to come around?”

“Where  _is_ the chef?” Evgeni wondered aloud.

Sidney shoves the pan in his hands. “For today? The chart says it’s you. Good luck.”

Evgeni’s eggs are ugly and overdone. Sidney and the girls smother them with condiment from a bottle labeled ‘Heinz Tomato Ketchup’ and eat them after a few light teasing. Evgeni knows then that wherever he is, in whatever life he’s living right now, he’s living it with Sidney, and they have three wonderful children. The matching gold ring on Sidney’s finger must mean that they had married, and Evgeni’s heart feels close to bursting whenever he thinks of it.

“What are you so happy about? We’re going to the ‘nightmare castle,’ or whatever it is you keep calling it,” Sidney asks, sipping at his coffee. He looks like an angel.

Evgeni will willingly walk into twenty nightmare castles if it means he can relive this exact moment, again and again and again, until the hole in his heart from Sidney’s departure is temporarily healed by his own imagination.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It’s sprinkling a little bit when they leave the car—not a carriage, Evgeni reminds himself. He’s not sure if he’s traveled forward in time (according to the car radio, very much forward in time), or if this is another lifetime in another universe entirely. He doesn’t think too much during the ride, just concentrates on Sidney’s quiet humming and the children in the back babbling among themselves about which is better, until they ask Evgeni to be a tie-breaker on whether ghosts are scarier than vampires.

He almost doesn’t recognize the familiar road leading him to his home, almost untouched by time or weather.

“We should’ve brought more umbrellas,” Sidney says, flashing a look at Evgeni that reminds him so much of his own Sidney. He flips through the brochure. “There’s 16 acres of land here, and a private rose garden, Ali would love that. I hope the rain lets up soon.”

Evgeni buckles the baby boy into the stroller easily enough after a few moments of maneuvering. Alexandra and Sofia run ahead, pointing at the trees and the fountains ahead that Evgeni would often visit while entertaining guests.

“This place is nearly 200 years old,” Sidney says in awe, admiring an old antique clock in the hallway adorned with a sign that said ‘Do not touch.’ “Can you imagine living here?”

 _Yes_ , Evgeni thinks. He remembers the servants bustling around the floor, remembers Sidney coming down this exact staircase and exclaiming happily, ‘Master Malkin, you’ve returned early—‘

No, he mustn’t think of it, not now. Not when dream-Sidney is looking at him in that adoring manner. He’s afraid he will truly shatter, once and for all, by the time he wakes up from this.

After all, Evgeni Malkin had been a coward then, not daring to chase after the love of his life. Today is no different. 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

His family estate has apparently been donated by his descendants as a site of historical importance. There’s other families milling around the place, children gawking at what Evgeni assumes to be now obsolete objects in the kitchen, and volunteers leading tour groups as they tell the history of its past inhabitants.

“There are, of course, many stories about the people that lived in the Malkin Estate,” the docent, an elderly woman says. “For those of you who are into romance, one of the more popular ones deals with the young Evgeni Malkin, born in the 1800s. He was one of the earliest inhabitants of the estate, rumored to have been in love with one of his servants.”

Evgeni’s heart stops cold, but Sidney pays him no mind as he reads the brochures and looks around at the paintings, some faded but still well-preserved from Evgeni’s time.

“The relationship wasn’t to be, however,” the docent continues, as if she hadn’t just stomped all over Evgeni’s body. “Evgeni eventually married a Miss Wickham, thought it has been said that it was an unhappy marriage. The Malkin Estate actually received a package a few years ago from an anonymous donor, containing hundreds of unsent letters that are supposedly from the servant that Evgeni was in love with, found in a locked box that had been unwittingly passed down as an heirloom, which we have on display in this wing, if you will follow me. Now, on your right is the—”

Evgeni stops listening. He parts from the group slowly and approaches the glass display, his hands trembling. The letters are pinned down, withered and nearly corrupt from age, but Evgeni can clearly see where the ink of Sidney’s words have been blurred by tearstains.

 _My dearest Zhenya,_ they all start, and all ending with,  _Yours eternally, S._

 _I must tell you the truth,_ one says.  _It had never been my idea to leave the well-loved halls of the Malkin Estate without leaving word. Benjamin, the butler—he saw us one morning. I was not careful enough. I’m sorry. You must know that he was very explicit in his threats, that I had led you astray. I could not let that happen. I wish nothing but a lifetime of happiness and comfort for you, though it pains me to admit that it cannot be with me to make that a reality._

_This letter, along with the others, will never be sent, because I know you must be very happy with Miss Wickham, Mrs. Malkin by now. I’ll never know. I don’t want to know, perhaps. But you must know that I love you, dearly, and that if things were different, I’d never have left your side._

_Yours eternally, S_

Evgeni moves wordlessly on to the next one, scanning over each yellowed page as something awful starts to rise in his heart, eating him alive.

_I told Benjamin to tell you that I had taken ill, but I ran into one of the maids the other day. Caroline, her name is. She cried when she saw me, Zhenya, I didn’t know what to say. She asked me where my wife is, and if she was healthy. I told her that I had no wife, but she was perplexed and informed me that Benjamin had said I’d gone home to marry. I was furious. And helpless. What could I have done? He would’ve exposed us all._

_It might seem over the top for me to say, but I don’t think I shall love another as much as I do you to bear the thought of marriage. When you asked me to marry you, that one night, I should have been selfish. I should have said yes._

_My answer is yes, still—_

Another starts with,  _Taylor married today, into a well-regarded family. I’m very happy for her._

The other details the weather, and the mundanities of Sidney’s morning.  _You would’ve loved the bird I saw this morning. It was blue, with flecks of gold in his eyes._

The last one is short.

_My dearest Zhenya,_

_This shall be my final letter. I have never stopped loving you, and I never will._

_Yours eternally, Sidney._

“G, you feeling alright? Are you crying?” Sidney’s voice says, breaking Evgeni out of his trance. He’s rubbing Evgeni’s back soothingly. “We can go home, if you want.”

Evgeni looks at Sidney, at the husband who isn’t his, at the child who isn’t his son, prattling to be held by his Papa. At least in this lifetime, he knows, he can Sidney are happy together. He wipes his eyes roughly then braves a smile.

“I’m fine,” Evgeni says, kissing Sidney on his curls and holds his arms out for Sidney to pass the baby to him. “Let’s go find the girls.”

It’s thundering when they go back to the parking lot, with Sofia and Alexandra squealing out in excitement as they duck inside.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He reads Sofia a story about bears that night, and Sofia kisses his nose and murmurs a “Good night, Papa,” before snuggling with her toy giraffe under the covers. The house is quiet when Evgeni steps out in the hallway; Evgeni tries to be as careful as possible as he heads back into the room that he and Sidney shared, for fear of disturbing the peace. He feels like he’s walking on air, as if each step he takes is feeling less tangible as it grows closer to midnight.

The rain is coming down furiously outside, and with a boom of thunder, Evgeni knows in his heart that he would be waking up back in the Malkin Estate tomorrow morning.

He sits down by Sidney’s side—Sidney is already half-asleep, curled into his blankets like a cat. He feels the dip in the mattress as Evgeni sits down and blinks blearily.

“Geno?” he says, his voice warm. It’s the nickname Evgeni knows to be one that this world’s Sidney had chosen for his husband, and there’s so much intent and love behind those words that it makes Evgeni’s head spin. “You tucked Sofia in?”

“Yes, I did,” Evgeni says, nuzzling Sidney’s nose before capturing his lips in a deep kiss.

“What was that for?” Sidney asks breathlessly, on the cusp of unconsciousness. “Come back to bed.”

“I will,” Evgeni says gently. He wants to memorize this moment. “I love you, Sidney.”

“Love you too,” Sidney says sleepily. Evgeni makes to move, but Sidney reaches out and grabs Evgeni’s shirt. “Don’t go. Stay with me.”

“I will,” Evgeni promises. “Go to sleep.”

The clock strikes midnight. Evgeni falls asleep next to his husband as it thunders on outside.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“It is morning, Sir,” the butler says, creaking the heavy wooden doors open. “I’ve received correspondence from the Wickham family asking if you would dine with them this eve—”

Evgeni opens his eyes. He would make things right this time.

“Benjamin,” Evgeni says, sliding off his bed and buttoning up his own shirt, ignoring the butler’s protests. “I’m going out to ride this morning. And when I return, if I see even a glimpse of your face on this property, if I hear anything from your mouth regarding your dismissal, I will find you. And I will  _ruin you_.”

The butler stands there, coat in his grip, petrified, as Evgeni hurries down the staircase.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Sidney had once told Evgeni where he lived, just beyond the outskirts of town near the river. It’s a modest house that has seen better days, but even to Evgeni, who has never been physically there until this very moment, thinks that it feels very much like home.

He knows he must look a madman by the time someone answers the door, with his shirt probably done one button off and hair in terrible disarray.

“Sidney,” he gasps out, “Sidney, I’m so—”

It’s a woman who answers the door, and for a moment, he fears it to be Sidney’s wife until he recognizes the curve of her lips and the same, intense gaze.

“Taylor,” he says, then corrects himself immediately. “I apologize—Miss Crosby, is your brother home? I’m Evgeni Malkin, from—”

“From the estate, I know,” Taylor says, her expression unreadable. She makes no move to address Evgeni respectfully. “My brother isn’t here. He’s just left to visit his friend, Mr. Mackinnon, on the island. He won’t be back for a good while, I’m afraid.”

“No,” Evgeni says, shaking his head. “No, no, that can’t be—” He paces a bit, looking behind him as though Sidney may be hiding there. “Please, Miss Crosby, you must tell him that I visited, please—”

“He’s been heartsick ever since he left the estate, waiting for letters that never came,” Taylor says, not budging an inch. “I think a change of scenery will do him good.”

“Miss Crosby,  _please_ ,” he begs. “I’ve been a fool, a terrible, terrible fool, I—”

Taylor’s face grows stormy as she lowers her voice. “Mr. Malkin, please tell me this: why should I help the man who broke my brother’s heart?“

“I—”

And from behind, as if by a god sent miracle, Sidney’s voice comes, subdued but still so familiar, “Taylor, I’ve come back. They say the weather is too poor for the ships to visit the island, so the trip’s been postponed until—” Evgeni whips around, just as Sidney looks up in astonishment, which quickly melts into shame. “Mr. Malkin.”

“Sidney,” Evgeni breathes. There Sidney was, still as beautiful as the day Evgeni last saw him. “My love.”

Sidney’s expression doesn’t change, but his ear reddens. “Do come inside, Mr. Malkin,” Sidney says quietly, not meeting Evgeni's eyes. “I’m afraid my house isn’t as comfortable as the estate, but I hope–”

“It’s lovely,” Evgeni says. “It’s perfect.”

Sidney bites his bottom lip.

Taylor frowns, “Sid, you shouldn’t–”

“It shall be alright, Taylor,” Sidney says. “I’m just going to talk with Mr. Malkin for a little bit.”

Taylor gives Evgeni one last, lingering look, then turns the corner into another room.

Sidney looks at his hands. Neither speak for a long moment, unsure of how to start.

“I’ll make some tea,” Sidney says. “And pack some food for your trip back.”

“Back?” Evgeni repeats. “Sidney, I’m not going back without you.”

Sidney chuckles hollowly. “I don’t work for you anymore, Mr. Malkin.”

“Sid.” He grabs Sidney’s wrist and tugs him back. “Please, Sidney, look at me.”

“Please don’t make this more difficult for me,” Sidney says. “I wish you’d leave.”

“I know what Benjamin did,” Evgeni says. Sidney’s shoulders stiffen, and Evgeni knows he’s hit the nail on the head. “Please come back with me, Sidney.”

Sidney hesitates, but he pulls away after a brief moment. “It won’t work, Evgeni. Please wait here, I’ll just be a moment,” he says, and heads for the kitchen.

“Sidney!” Evgeni calls again, desperate. He can't lose Sidney, not again, not when he's _right there_ ; Evgeni swallows hard and gathers his courage as he exclaims, “Sidney, we have three children together." 

Sidney pauses.

"Three wonderful, talented, beautiful children.” Evgeni wets his lips anxiously. “I saw them in a dream. And I know you must think me insane, but I’m not. It was so real, everything—there’s Sofia, she’s the oldest and shiest, but she’s kind and gentle. Alexandra—you call her Ali—she’s a little troublemaker, but she always needs you to read her a story, the one about elephants—before bed or she can’t sleep. And our son—he’s gorgeous, Sidney, he’s just turned one—”

“Zhenya,” Sidney says, brokenly. “Zhenya, it was just a dream. It can’t be.”

“It was real,” Evgeni insists, cupping Sidney’s face. “And perhaps we can’t have Sofia, or—or Ali or the baby in our lifetime, but we can be together, I’ve lived it. I  _know_  it. We can move away, be happy, finally.”

“I wish it were so,” Sidney replies thickly. Evgeni pulls him back into his arms, breathing him in, even as Sidney’s heart feels as if it’d been hurled across an entire ocean, and Evgeni is grasping at straws to fetch it back. “Oh, God, I wish—” He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Please, no more talk of this. I can’t bear it.” 

“I read your letters,” Evgeni blurts.

“What?”

“The letters, you wrote me letters. I’ve read them,” Evgeni says.

Sidney’s eyes are wide. “I don’t—I don’t understand, how did you—I never sent—”

“Because I have seen us,” Evgeni says, tilting Sidney’s chin up to face him. “You wrote that you should have been selfish that night, that you should have said yes when I asked you to marry me.”

Sidney’s looks like he’s struggling to breathe. “How could you have—”

“I’m asking again,” Evgeni says earnestly. He takes Sidney’s quivering hands with his own, unsteadily. Sidney’s hands are so warm. “Sidney Patrick Crosby, please, be selfish with me. Say you will marry me.”

Sidney doesn’t respond for a long moment, and Evgeni begins to fear that all has been lost until Sidney whispers, “Yes.”

“Yes?” Evgeni echoes dumbly. “Yes, you’ll marry me?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” Sidney laughs wetly, wiping at his eyes. “Yes, Zhenya, yes, yes, yes—”

Evgeni picks Sidney up then, twirling him around and letting the same rush of joy wash over him like it did in his dream, until he feels as though he could drown.

Outside, the storm clouds grow fainter yet.

 

 

 

 

_end_


End file.
